


some overwhelming question

by Jade_Sabre



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Distraction Kiss, F/M, Kissing as a Distraction, Maybe Other Kissing Too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-16 17:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16958811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Sabre/pseuds/Jade_Sabre
Summary: A heist.  A guard.  Too little space between, too little time to think.  What's meant as a distraction turns out to be more--maybe, or maybe not.  A Jester/Caleb fic, spoilers up to the end of episode 44.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, any and all kissing fics I ever write are just me trying to emulate ["Closet Negotiations"](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3050770/1/Closet-Negotiations) by Rashaka, and so with much gratitude I dedicate this fic to the memory of all our fond Zutara squealing.
> 
> Second of all, many thanks as always to Quark for looking over this, even though I keep writing none of her favorite things. Love you!
> 
> Thirdly, I wrote most of this fic after episode 43 came out. So there's a couple of references to episode 44, but for the most part I'll leave the fallout of that to the professionals. Takes place in the hopefully? not-too-distant future from that.
> 
> Finally, I have shipped it from day one, and I haven't shipped anything this hard in a long time. I have no regrets, and I hope y'all enjoy.

* * *

_There will be time, there will be time_  
_To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;_  
_There will be time to murder and create,_  
_And time for all the works and days of hands_  
_That lift and drop a question on your plate;_  
_Time for you and time for me,_  
_And time yet for a hundred indecisions,_  
_And for a hundred visions and revisions,_  
_Before the taking of a toast and tea._  
  
_[...]  Would it have been worth while,_  
_To have bitten off the matter with a smile,_  
_To have squeezed the universe into a ball_  
_To roll it towards some overwhelming question,_  
_To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,_  
_Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—_  
_If one, settling a pillow by her head_  
_Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;_  
_That is not it, at all.”  
  
_

T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

* * *

They sailed into Nicodranas on a pirate ship, so really, things could've been much worse.  The Zolezzo confined them to their ship while they checked out their story, and in the meantime they offered them a job that wasn't too bad, as far as jobs went. Go to a fancy party, do a little sneaking, a little investigating, maybe disarm a couple magical traps. Maybe come out with a little evidence for the Zolezzo, and any whispers of any complaints against them from the whole docks fiasco would be poof! gone. Granted, it still didn't solve the problem of the death warrant out on her head, but they also thought the little blue tiefling girl had died at the docks, so, it all balanced out.  
  
They only had four invites to the party, and she and Nott were the best investigators in the group, like, _the best_ , so of course they had to go. Beau really wanted in and since she missed out on the Avantika raid they graciously invited her, and then Caleb reminded everyone that they had said _magical_ traps so he rounded out the group. Fjord tried to argue that Beau couldn't cast Disguise Self and he could, so maybe he'd be a better fit, but she'd stormed out and returned an hour later wearing a fancy party dress with her hair curled in ringlets and held out a jaunty hand as she introduced herself as "Tracy, from the Empire!" and he had to concede the point. Yasha didn't want to go, of course, and Jester promised to draw Caduceus _lots_ of pictures so that he would know what a fancy party looked like, and he seemed all right. Well, he always seemed all right, so long as nobody was drowning or dying or murdering other people, and his mood had been much improved by their return to the continent.  
  
A few Disguise Selves later, Caleb in his "I'm me, but wearing nice black clothes" disguise that Jester thought made him look kind of like a vampire, Jester as the buxom blonde elf version of herself, Nott as a cloaked Halfling, and they were in. Half of Nicodranas's upper crust were present, which meant it wasn't nearly as fancy a party as it was trying to be, but there were magical lights and musicians playing from the upper balconies and loads of yummy food.  
  
" _Nott_ ," Jester said when she realized she couldn't see the goblin anymore, and sure enough she was discreetly emptying an entire tray of pastries into her mouth under a table.  
  
"I 'aved 'oo," Nott swallowed, "some," and offered several very nice éclairs that Jester dropped into her haversack.  
  
"Right," Beau said, "so the food's safe, thanks for figuring that out."  
  
"Would it _not_ be?" Nott said, incredulous. "Who throws a party and poisons their own food? I mean, nobody puts this much effort into a party only to be known as 'the guy who gave half the city food poisoning.'"  
  
"She has a point," Caleb said, though it wasn't clear which _she_ he meant. "Anyway, are we going to get started, yeah?"  
  
"Should we mingle?" Jester asked. She saw several of her mother's clients and was kind of hoping maybe to hear them talking about her, or to start seeds of praise among them, or maybe she'd just sidle over to the clock on the wall and set it back a couple of hours, or maybe—  
  
"Not all of us," Beau said. "We don't want them noticing when we all go missing. I'll go talk to…what's his name. See if I can get anymore information about his safe out of him."  
  
"Is that wise?" Caleb said. "You just said we didn't—there she goes," he said, as Beau sailed through the room with an effortless grace that belied the fact that she was wearing five more layers of clothing than usual.  
  
"So what," Nott said, "we just…wait?"  
  
"We should have discussed a signal," Caleb said, frowning.  
  
"We've got a little time," Jester said, looking at the clock again. "It's been what, ten minutes? And we can all cast the spell again if we need to. These éclairs are _really_ good. Want one?"  
  
"No thank you," Caleb said, not even looking at her, doing his best impression of a wallflower without actually being against the wall, glowering at the rest of the room, looking like he was attending a funeral. Everything else was light and glowing and magical—not like _real_ magic, but better, the magic of mutual suspension of disbelief, of everyone pretending that everything in the world was as wonderful and gay and bright as this ballroom. Trust Caleb to stick to the shadows. She sighed.  
  
They all stood awkwardly by the table, not really talking, watching as Beau waited her turn in line to talk to the host, and then the music changed and Jester seized her chance. "Caleb," she said, drawing out the first syllable in his name, but he was already looking at her as if he'd heard the music, too. "May I have this dance?"  
  
He raised his hand and hesitated. "I—"  
  
"Oh, go on," said Nott around a mouthful of one of those tasty meatballs on a stick. "She hasn't even started talking to him, we've got time. Scout around while you're out there."  
  
Caleb didn't even have a chance to respond before Jester seized his hand and led him to the edge of the dance floor, watching the other couples whirl by and gauging when to make their entry. "Last time we waltzed," she said, "you were _super_ -drunk."  
  
"Yes," he said, eyes on the other dancers, hand still in hers.  
  
"So this time," she said, "I expect— _oh_ ," she said, as he pressed his other hand into her back and skillfully slipped into the sea of dancers, and for a moment she couldn't catch her breath as they fell into the _one-two-three_ rhythm, trying to land her free hand on his shoulder where it belonged. His arms seemed impossibly rigid and yet his grip on her hand was gentle as he waited for her to get her feet beneath her, his steps perfectly timed without any stumbling at all.  
  
After half a turn around the floor she finally caught up, and as she looked up from her feet she saw him halfway between a smile and a smirk, watching her. "All right," she said, "I'm impressed."  
  
"Thank you," he said cordially, his hand gripping hers a little more firmly as he started to lead her.  
  
"Who taught you to dance so well?" she asked, allowing him the lead, resting against the press of his palm into her shoulder blade as they rotated.  
  
"My teachers," he said, and she laughed, and he smiled again. Then he looked beyond her and said, "Ah, Beauregard has made it to her mark."  
  
"Oh good," she said, and then she dropped her chin and pouted up at him. "Did your teachers not tell you it's rude to look at other ladies when you have a partner?"  
  
"Ah yes," he said, "of course," but this smile was a little thinner, a little strained as he looked back to her. No good at all, and so for a minute or two she simply allowed him to spin her around the room, smiling to herself as now and then he glanced at her, ranging from confusion at her silence to a mounting suspicion that made her struggle not to giggle.  
  
But then the song was over and they broke apart and he sketched the cutest little perfunctory bow that she returned with what she thought was the cutest little perfunctory curtsey, and then to her surprise he offered her his arm and so she accepted it and allowed him to escort her back to the corner where they'd left Nott, doing their best to avoid running into people and possibly spoiling the illusion. Though his clothes appeared to be velvet she felt the scratch of wool whenever her arm pressed against his; and though he looked like death warmed over he was, well, _warm_ , which was nice, and he didn't smell bad, which was mostly because they'd all (well, all but Nott) scrubbed vigorously in a back alley while she cast Create Water over their heads. The water had been cold, because of course the Traveler thought it was funny, but the results had been worth it.  
  
Nott was not in the corner. "Color me shocked," Caleb commented, fiddling with a wire as he looked about the room. "Beauregard is still engaged."  
  
She looked and sure enough there was Beau, twirling a curl around her finger and shooting desperate looks across the room whenever the party host laughed at what was presumably his own joke. He had a hand on her arm and as she watched it slowly worked its way up her shoulder and she was oddly proud of Beau for not breaking it, though of course that would have been fun too, but maybe not the best idea.  
  
"Murder was not on the to-do list, _ja_?" Caleb said, still standing beside her, rigid again, her hand still on his arm.  
  
"No," she said, "but who knows, maybe she can come back later and finish the job."  
  
He didn't laugh at that, unfortunately, but before he could get too glowery his gaze drifted off to the side in a way she recognized as him listening to something from Nott, and then he said, " _Ja_ ," and then, a few breaths later, "yes," and a breath or two after that, "no, wait—"  
  
"Is something wrong?" she asked, squeezing his arm to get his attention.  
  
His arm fell to his side immediately and she held up both her hands in apology, and then he blinked and relaxed and said, "She thinks she found an opening and wants to get past—guard said something about looking for the toilet—"  
  
"Well she's not investigating without _me_ ," Jester said, taking two steps before realizing she didn't know which way to go.  
  
"This way," Caleb said, and she trailed behind him closely enough to rock on her toes when he stopped dead and said, "But what about Beau?"  
  
"You stay here with her," Jester said, torn between shoving around him and still not knowing where she was going.  
  
"Magical traps," he said, and she snorted.  
  
"Then just send her a message—"  
  
"Saying what?"  
  
"—oh, you know, sorry, had to go, come find us when you can, we'll check in, you can respond to this message—" and she stepped past him, heading towards the nearest door.  
  
He hissed behind her, much like Frumpkin, and a moment later he caught her arm and said, "No, this way," and pulled her towards what looked to be just a tapestry on the wall. And then she saw a servant come out from behind it with drinks and sure enough there was a passage behind it—  
  
" _There_ you are," said Nott from somewhere near her feet. "Took you long enough. I scouted ahead, let's go."  
  
"Frumpkin could have—"  
  
Nott waved him away as they ducked into the passageway. "You looked like you were having fun," she whispered. "I took care of it."  
  
Caleb made a disgruntled noise in his throat that made Jester want to giggle, but the passageway was dark, lit only by torches every twenty feet, and she concentrated on watching behind them as Nott led them through two or three intersections before turning and leading them up a narrow staircase that came out on _another_ dark passageway, and then after another twenty or so feet Nott pushed against a section that turned out to be the back of another tapestry and they were at the end of a hallway, this one with wood paneling lit by candles every few feet and lined with portraits and suits of armors and large ceramics, with one huge, plush rug running down the center of it. The tip of a large, scrolled banister was barely visible at the other end.  
  
"I _think_ these are the living quarters," Nott was saying as they pressed against the tapestry. "So his room should be one of these doors close to us."  
  
Caleb was staring at the suits of armor, looking even gloomier than normal. "These are almost all certainly magical," he murmured.  
  
"We don't have time for your ritual magic," Jester whispered. "Just cast the spell and find out."  
  
"But we have to choose," he whispered back, "because I can only dispel so much you know and fighting suits of armor would make too much noise but what if there's something else too and we don't have Beauregard with us and I really don't want to die here."  
  
"Beau's still busy but she thinks she can get up here," Nott said, drawing a wire away from her mouth.  
  
"Through the front?" Caleb muttered, uneasy. "If she brings him up with her there will almost certainly be murder—"  
  
"Tell her to tell him she needs to use the toilet," Jester whispered.  
  
"I mean she's probably already thought of that," Nott said, "it's kind of a classic—"  
  
"Tell her to tell him she's not sure the fish is good and then to just—run away," she said, "and that you'll be there to hide her—"  
  
"The suits are all magical," Caleb announced in a whisper, "and so is the rug, but, it looks like if we stay to the side of it—and don't touch that urn over there—if we just inch along the wall like so— _that_ one," and he pointed to the suit nearest them, opposite the first otherwise plain-looking door across the hall, "is safe, so I am guessing it is the room we want."  
  
"All right, all right, I'll go get her," Nott said, pulling the hood of her cloak farther down her forehead. "Just stay here and _don't move_."  
  
"Roger that," Caleb said, and a moment later she was gone, the tapestry barely shifting behind them in her wake.  
  
Jester was very good at being quiet when the occasion called for it, but there was nobody nearby and Caleb's breathing was getting a little shallow as he kept staring at the armor, so she whispered, "Is there anything magical in the room?"  
  
"What?" he whispered back, still staring at the armor.  
  
"The room," she said, still whispering. "The room we're trying to get into. Can you see through the door?"  
  
"No," he said in the same shallow, startled whisper. "It's a door."  
  
"Yes but your spell," she said. "Can your _spell_ see through the door."  
  
"Oh," he said, shaking his head a bit and then finally looking away from the suits of armor and their menacing pole arms. "Yes. Yes, there's—hoo boy."  
  
"Magic?"  
  
"Loads of magic," he said, squinting. "Some abjuration, yes, some—a little too far, I'll look again when we get in—"  
  
"Hey," said a voice, deep and loud. "Someone here?"  
  
" _Shit_ ," Jester said, "behind the tapestry let's go go go—"  
  
She slid her hand between the tapestry and the wall and pushed it back so that she could duck behind it until she reached the opening behind it, and in that moment she heard the very loud thunk- _oopmh_ of Caleb walking straight into the wall. She ducked back out in time to grab his hand and pull him to her to keep him from stepping on the rug as he stumbled back, but before she could drag him with her the voice said, "Hey, you two, what are you—"  
  
She looked up at Caleb and he was _much_ nearer than he usually liked to be and his eyes were wide and his free hand was fumbling in his pocket as his mouth moved but there wasn't _time_ and he was right _there_ so she did the first thing that came to her mind:  
  
She kissed him.  
  
To be more accurate, she grabbed a handful of hair on the back of his head and pulled his mouth to hers, which really just resulted in her getting a lipful of stubbly mustache that was not quite as coarse as it looked _hoo boy_ she'd never thought about kissing a man with facial hair before but it was definitely a thing that was definitely happening. At least inasmuch as she was tilting her head this way and that in what she hoped was an accurate imitation of a passionate kiss while his lips were apparently frozen together and his arms were limp. So she grabbed them and put them around her waist as best as she was able and as she wrapped her arms back around his shoulders he seemed to revive a bit, and she opened one eye long enough to see him close his as he followed her passionate-head-tilting lead but both their lips were pretty firmly closed and not really interacting and hers were still half on his moustache stubble and there wasn't really much _kissing_ to be had, at least she didn't think this counted. But then she heard the sound of boots on carpet and his arms tightened around her and suddenly they were pressed together and she felt the _heat_ of him against her chest, felt the careful calculating way he matched her ridiculous movements, and for a moment she had an impression of a banked fire waiting for—something—  
  
"What," said the same voice, "are you doing?"  
  
Caleb withdrew, a welcome relief for her chafed lips, and caught her gaze for a moment, his eyes somewhere between terrified and twinkling, and then he turned his head and said, "I…thought that would be obvious."  
  
Over his shoulder she could just make out what looked like an exasperated house guard, arms crossed, skepticism all over his face. "Uh-huh," he said. "And what are you doing _here_?"  
  
"Well downstairs is just so crowded you know," she said, going to flip her hair but then remembering that her hands were currently clutching the shoulders of Caleb's definitely-not-fine-velvet coat.  
  
" _Ja_ and we just wanted a bit of privacy, you know?" Caleb said, casual and smug, rich and far too important to have a guard bothering him about his trysts. Confident. Surprisingly hot.  
  
Gosh, she was _proud_ of him.  
  
"This area's private," the guard said.  
  
"Exactly my point," he said, not budging an inch.  
  
The guard looked torn between being cowed and being more afraid of his boss, so Jester slid her hands down Caleb's arms to fiddle with the lapel of his coat. "Darling," she said, pouting her lip, "won't you just send him away? This is taking _too long_ and I just can't _wait_ much longer."  
  
A muscle in Caleb's cheek twitched—his _very_ red cheek, she noticed now, and she fought a similar twitch—and then his arms were tightening around her waist, pulling her into him as he said, "You are trying the lady's patience." Jester did her best to look somewhere between desperately horny and super-annoyed. Caleb jerked his head towards the hallway. "If you don't mind…?"  
  
She added a couple of _oo_ s, still toying with his coat, making pouty lips, while the two men stared each other down, and then the guard shook his head in disgust and said, " _Here_?"  
  
"Oh darling," she said, ducking her head against his shirt when she couldn't hide her grin anymore. He was _warm_ , and his heart was hammering, and she rubbed her forehead against him and said, "Oh, _surely_ not _here_ …"  
  
"And why not?" Caleb said somewhere above her, his voice a little…difficult, somehow, his hands clenching into her sides.  
  
She _oh_ 'd a little more, giggling, sliding her left leg just to the outside of Caleb's, and the guard made a noise of disgust and said, his voice getting a bit fainter as he spoke, "Look, just—just don't get anything on the—on the rug—oh for fuck's sake—"  
  
"That's the idea," Caleb said, and now her shoulders were shaking with giggles as she heard the _thump_ of the guard's boots as he apparently fled back down the hallway. She smushed her nose into Caleb's warm chest and tried not to breathe lest the giggles escape. Warm and a little scrawny, maybe, she knew he was scrawny but now she felt it, a little bony, a little underdeveloped, weeks of bland divine-magic food not helping she was sure, and gosh he'd always been fragile but she felt like she could squeeze him too tightly and just crush him without meaning to. But then his hands were strong and his fingers were long and a little tickly, now that she thought about it, and their hips were pretty close together but that wasn't really—it was weird, mostly, and then one of his hands released her and after another moment she heard him whisper, " _Nott_?"  
  
"Is he gone?" she asked, peeking up at the underside of his chin, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.  
  
"Yes. They're almost to the stairs," he said, and then he looked down at her and she was looking up at him and oh gosh they were close together, like, _really_ close, obviously they were close but it was different with those big blue eyes suddenly turning the full force of his incisive mind upon her and oh Traveler, she'd kissed Caleb.  
  
Really badly, too.  
  
"Oh," she said, and one part of her noticed that he'd dropped the confident and suave persona and now looked terrified and questioning and another part thought that was funny and a third part—the part feeling his heart hammer against her chin—thought that he was holding onto something, desperately keeping it at bay, and then of course there was the part of her trying to figure out a dick joke to break the tension and another part telling her maybe she shouldn't talk about dicks when his was _right there_ and another part saying STOP THINKING ABOUT HIS DICK and another part thinking he should probably let go of her before Nott saw them and another part wondering if the guard was _really_ gone and one part was just her heart pounding in her ears and last of all was a very small soft voice underneath them all saying _oh_ , quiet and still and content, that she wasn't—  
  
"Ah," he said, and maybe he'd said something else, and then his other arm slid from around her and she instinctively ducked her head and stepped away and her back hit hard stone covered in a thin layer of tapestry, not nearly as warm or inviting as—well, anyway. She looked up and he was studying her with—well, he was always intense, but moreso, somehow, but as soon as their eyes met his slid away and suddenly he wasn't looking at her at all. "So."  
  
"Right," she said. And then, before any of the other things she was thinking of to say came out, she said, "So we probably should just…hide behind the tapestry until they get here."  
  
"Ah," he said again, "yeah. That would be…good."  
  
"Should have done it from the beginning," she said, turning away from him before giving her head a little shake to snap her back from—or to—or—anyway, behind the tapestry, yes, that's where she was going.  
  
"Probably," he said, and she heard him following her, and then his voice was suddenly very quiet and very near, his breath tickling the back of her head. "Maybe not."  
  
She put a hand to the stone wall to steady herself as a shiver went down her spine, the hair on her neck prickling, and when she glanced back to him he looked—well, he probably wasn't thinking about how well she could see his expression in the mostly dark hallway, and he looked nervous and guilty and also as if maybe he didn't realize she'd heard him, maybe, or maybe not, or—  
  
Quick, quiet footsteps, and then—"Hey," said Beau's husky voice, followed shortly by the woman herself. She'd pinned her fancy sleeves up and looked annoyed, but then again, that was just Beau. "Sorry we're late."  
  
"Oh no problem at all," Caleb said, almost normal, maybe a bit too fast, and Jester rolled her eyes so that maybe no one would notice—anything.  
  
"Trouble?" Nott asked, slipping around Beau's skirt.  
  
Caleb shook his head and Jester said, "Oh, just a guard."  
  
"Did he see you?" Beau said, immediately doing a perimeter check.  
  
"Well," Jester said, looking at Caleb, who was not looking at her, "yes."  
  
"Yes but I do not think he will be bothering us again," Caleb said.  
  
"Why, did you kill him?" Nott asked, looking mildly disappointed to have missed the opportunity.  
  
"We're not supposed to—" Beau said.  
  
"We didn't _kill_ him," Jester said. "We just scared him off. Right?"  
  
"Right," Caleb said, and they were both looking just past each other in what had to be the most ridiculously guilty way, not that she felt _guilty_ , only it was weird and it shouldn't have been weird, or maybe it was that it wasn't weird and should have been, and—  
  
"Okay, well," Nott said, apparently oblivious, though Beau was looking between the two of them with narrowed eyes and now Jester thought it would be appropriate to concentrate _very hard_ on Nott's next words, "let's…go?"  
  
"Yes," Caleb said, "let's."  
  
"You two first," Beau said, eyes still narrowed. "Jester and I'll bring up the rear."  
  
"The suits of armor are magical except for the one by the room we want," Caleb said, "and the rug is—"  
  
"Nott told me, let's _go_ ," Beau said. "No telling when your guard friend will be back with buddies."  
  
"I don't think he will be," Jester said, hanging back as Caleb followed Nott around the tapestry.  
  
Beau looked sidelong at her. "But he's not dead?"  
  
"Nope," she said, with a cheerful shake of her head, and after another impossibly long second or two Beau shook her head back and shrugged.  
  
"Then let's go," she said, and they stepped back into the candlelit armor-infested hallway together, and if she made herself busy staring at the other end of the hall instead of at anyone else in the party, well, she was just being a really good guard, okay?  
  
Okay. It would be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jade, you might be saying, that last chapter was great and all, but what if this fic had even MORE kissing?
> 
> Reader, I say, I am _here for you_.

Surprisingly, the rest of the heist _did_ go well, at least the part where they managed to break past several locks and traps and retrieve the papers. The getaway was a little messier, what with having to jump out a window into a fountain that was of course guarded by a surprise water elemental who of course whelmed Nott and nearly drowned her. As Beau delivered a devastating series of blows to the monster, Jester scrambled to Nott and was about to heal her when Caleb grabbed her shoulder and said, "Better leave her unconscious. She is just going to scream when she wakes up."  
  
"Good point," Jester said, stabilizing and scooping up the unconscious goblin in her arms instead, and Caleb's hand maybe lingered on her shoulder, maybe not, she certainly didn't notice. They and Beau made their drippingly wet way back to the ship where, once revived and before even opening her eyes, Nott began hollering a list of all the people she was going to kill, starting with whoever invented water, working her way past various water-based enemies they'd faced, and finally ending with Fjord.  
  
"I wasn't even _there_ ," he protested.  
  
"Don't play the innocent with _me_ ," she said, wild-eyed and jabbing a finger in his direction. "You control the seas now, or something." Fjord tilted his head while frowning the particular frown he frowned when he felt the other person was wrong, but she continued, "You're just as bad as all the rest of them."  
  
"That's not really f—"  
  
"Let it go," Caleb advised, standing well back from the chaos, arms crossed, half-grinning, half-wincing. "Let her drink it off, she'll be better in the morning."  
  
Many things were better in the morning, maybe not Nott's hangover but the weather and the Zolezzo's attitude towards them when they delivered the papers, though of course the captain was all "this is good, give us time to gather all the evidence, in the meantime please stay on your ship you don't have permission to wander freely," which was _lame_ , and then they stationed a guard at the end of the gangway again, which was _really_ lame. She thought about sneaking off the ship and trying to see her mother, but there wasn't a way to get off or get back on unseen that didn't involve jumping off the boat or else trying to talk her way back aboard when she shouldn't have left in the first place. She spent a long time discussing her options with Marius, who seemed less interested in discussing them—really seemed mostly unwilling, though his advice was good—than in trying to persuade her not to get on the Zolezzo's bad side _again_ , please, he just wanted off the boat, please, he'd be an honest man after this please just _don't ruin it_.  
  
So finally she gave up on leaving the ship by surreptitious means and spent the lunch hour chatting up the guard himself. But _that_ didn't work either, and by the end she was hungry and frustrated and hot and so she marched back up the gangway and stomped across the deck and stormed her way belowdecks and ran straight into Caleb as he tried to leave the galley at the exact moment she tried to enter it.  
  
"Oh," she said, exasperated, " _sorry_."  
  
"Ow," he said weakly, one hand on his chest, wincing, and she _was_ pretty strong and she knew he was pretty scrawny and just as she started to feel bad his eyes opened enough for their gazes to meet and then they both just stood there, staring at each other, and she was _hot_ and the air was stifling and she was hungry and he was awkward and scrawny and she could just grab him and—  
  
"Sorry," she said again, almost a mumble, dropping her gaze, brow furrowing as she tried to avoid the long list of things she could do after grabbing him, which wasn't like her, like, at all, but it was weird and she didn't want it to be weird. But she'd started it, so she'd have to find a way to fix it.  
  
"No problem," he said, and he was still a bit winded but his voice was quiet too and then after another moment of her staring at the deck he mercifully slipped by her without touching her and the air stirred in his wake; and she closed her eyes and lingered in it, and then she remembered how hungry she was and went in search of her lunch.  
  
She spent the rest of the day Mending this and that around the ship, little splinters of wood that mostly didn't matter, and it gave her entirely too much time to think but she didn't know who to talk to, thought maybe she should figure this out herself. At one point she did climb to the top of the crow's nest and scribble in her journal, mostly doodles of the city below but a couple of memories, too, and a lot of question marks; but if the Traveler had any suggestions, he was keeping them to himself.  
  
She ultimately decided that there was only one course of action to take, really, but the timing was delicate, and so she ate dinner with the others and joked with Nott and Beau and tried to teach Yasha basic small talk, which failed miserably but in an entertaining way. And then afterwards Beau invited her to spar and Caduceus offered to let her blend her own dead person tea like they'd been talking about, but instead she politely excused herself, lingering until Nott made her way to the powder room for her nightly inventory and nightcap. And then she went and settled in a shadowy corner at the end of the crew deck and waited. She didn't have to wait too long, which was lucky, because she was kind of nervous and she might have talked herself out of it even though it was clearly the only real solution, though if it didn't work she didn't know _what_ she'd do—and then Caleb went into his room, and after giving him a minute to get comfortable, she emerged from the shadows and knocked on his door.  
  
"Come in?" he called, and she opened the door and stepped inside and pushed it shut behind her and rested against it with her hands behind her back, her tail curling by her knees, waiting.  
  
The crew quarters on the ship-formerly-known-as-the- _Squall-Eater_ weren't as cramped as those aboard the _Mistake_ , but it was still two beds bolted to either wall with a space barely wide enough for a person between them and just enough room between the beds and the door for a trunk or two, should the crew member be lucky enough to have actual personal belongings. Each bed had a candleholder bolted to the wall above it, and the room was surprisingly bright given that only one of them was lit. On one of the beds in this room sat a collection of shiny things meticulously sorted, and on the other sat Caleb in his shirtsleeves, dancing lights twinkling around his head, thumbing through his spell book and looking not nearly as nervous as she felt.  
  
That is, until he looked up and saw her and something in his expression froze. "Oh—ah, I thought you were Nott," he said, shutting the book and holding it before him in both hands as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with it.  
  
"Ah," she said, "I am not Nott," and she giggled, which she thought was appropriate and not nervous at all, but his smile was tight in return and her stomach squirmed.  
  
"Noted," he said, still holding his book, and for a moment the room was quiet which was _weird_ because she was never quiet, not like this, and he was waiting for her to speak but she didn't know where to start exactly. After a moment of him looking at her expectantly and her grinning wordlessly at him in return, he said, "So."  
  
"Yes," she said brilliantly, nodding at him.  
  
His eyes narrowed, though whether suspicious or confused, she couldn't say. Finally he said, "So we are…one step closer to getting you back to your mother, _ja_? That is a good thing."  
  
"We _are_ ," she said, delighted, bouncing off the door a little, and his smile warmed in return, reaching his eyes. "She will be so relieved to see us, oh my goodness. I mean I've sent her a few messages while we've been gone but I didn't really want to tell her we were _pirates_ and so there wasn't much to say you know so I'm sure she's just dying to know what all we've been up to."  
  
"And…are you going to tell her?" Caleb asked, and she paused mid-bounce.  
  
"Well," she said, "maybe not everything. But some things! Some things weren't…all bad…"  
  
She pressed her lips together as she stared at the deck, trying to think of something she _could_ tell her mother, maybe about Dashilla, maybe with fewer ghosts? and then Caleb said, "You could tell her about Orly's tattoos."  
  
"Oh my gosh, _yes_ ," she said, clutching her face. "Oh man I really wish I hadn't thrown those jewels away imagine if I could have _shown_ her one of them? Oh man oh man."  
  
"We will just have to work hard to get you some more," Caleb said, and she focused back on his face and he looked… _pleased_ , fondly so, and her knees got a little shaky for no apparent reason and she pressed her palms into her cheeks and her palms were sweaty and her cheeks were getting hot and if she didn't get things back on track she'd chicken out, and Jester _hated_ chickening out.  
  
"That would be excellent," she said, and then she took a deep breath and said, palms still to her cheeks, "but," and she dragged the word out as she tried to think of how to say what she wanted to say, "that's…not what I came here to talk to you about."  
  
The smile disappeared from his face, a door slamming shut over whatever he was thinking. "Ah," he said.  
  
"So," she said, slowly and carefully, "about last—"  
  
"Night yes," he said, setting the book next to him on the bed and folding his hands in front of him, looking maybe towards the toe of her boot or something, "I have been meaning all day to—"  
  
"Talk to you about it," she said, encouraged, "right, because—"  
  
"And I wanted to apologize," he went on, "if I was too forward or took too many liberties—"  
  
"Well, more like—"  
  
"Or if maybe you had wanted to do something else, and I misunderstood—"  
  
"I think we should practice," she said in a rush, covering the rush with a bright perky smile that hopefully said _no big deal, right_?  
  
"—or perhaps you were offend—" He stopped, his mouth ajar, still staring at some point near her boot, and the dancing lights vanished and she covered her mouth with one hand to stifle a giggle. His jaw shifted as his head tilted, as if he'd forgotten how to speak.  
  
"Kissing, I mean," she said, and then she had to press her lips together _really_ hard because his mouth moved a little more but still no sound came out, and she'd rendered Caleb speechless or surprised on many occasions—made a game of it, really—but he seemed wholly incapable of thought, as if his entire brain with all its intricacies and busy-ness and sadness had ground to a halt, and it was absolutely amazing.  
  
After another moment of her beaming and him making fish faces, a breath of sound escaped him, swift and soft: " _Was_?"  
  
"Kissing," she said again, and then very slowly, almost spelling it out, "You and me. Practice. Kissing."  
  
His mouth opened further as his eyes narrowed as if he were about to speak, and then he stayed like that for at least another minute and she watched as the gears slowly began turning again. He finally regained enough sense to close his mouth, and then his eyes slid to the side and he said, still weak, "…why?"  
  
"Oh you know," she said, waving her hand, "I mean, what if it comes up again? On a job or something, I mean," she said, and he still looked mostly in shock and she thought things were probably going to be okay.  
  
His gaze continued carefully tracing the perimeter of the room. "So…we should...you think we should…practice?"  
  
"Well, here's the thing," she said, and her hands went behind her back again for a nervous moment but then she needed them too much to talk, "so, like, I'm _really_ good at a lot of things, right, like _really_ good at a _lot_ of things."  
  
"Yes," he said slowly, "you are."  
  
"Right," she said, "but, so, the thing is, I'm maybe not so good at…kissing?"  
  
"Mm," he said.  
  
"Maybe," she said, and then she felt she should emphasize it, " _maybe_ , I don't have too much experience with it?"  
  
"Mm," he said again, now turning his head to scout out the wall next to him.  
  
And somehow him looking away gave her an unexpected burst of confidence, because she said, "Look, I'll tell you a secret," and he wanted to say something and she didn't let him, "really I've only been kissed the two times, but neither one really counted right because the first time it was more about drowning and this time it was more about not getting killed and I just really have _no_ idea what I'm doing and maybe next time we won't be so lucky and the guard won't believe us so well—"  
  
"Are we going to be making a habit of this?" he asked the ceiling.  
  
"—I mean it worked, so sure," she said, "but really I'd just," and this wasn't why she was here and wasn't what she meant to be saying but it came out anyway, "…like to know what I'm doing."  
  
Now her hands went behind her back, fingers twisting together nervously, and the tip of her tail was twitching at her knees. He let out his breath in a long, long sigh, his body bending with it until he was resting his arms on his thighs and his head on his clasped hands, his hair hanging down in a tousle of red waves. She really wanted to reach out and brush it back but that felt weird and made her stomach even more squirmy and so she waited until he finally sat up enough for her to watch him rub his face with his hands.  
  
"So," he said, his voice a little muffled beneath his palms, "maybe I shouldn't—but…isn't this something…you should maybe be doing…with…Fjord?"  
  
His voice climbed in pitch as he said it and ended with a strange sort of creak, and she didn't quite know what to make of it. And she hadn't considered this question but the mere thought of it sent her stomach tumbling over itself and she wasn't sure what he was asking or what she wanted and she forced herself to remember why she'd come, _why she'd come_ , and it definitely wasn't to make things even weirder by bringing up Fjord. She dug her nails into her palms and forced positivity through her veins until she could say cheerfully, easily, "Oh, well, here's another thing, you know, I mean I know he banged Avantika," she dropped her voice to a low pitch and thought she saw his cheeks twitch, "for the good of the party and everything, but honestly I don't think Fjord really has a lot of experience in this area actually so he maybe wouldn't be the best choice."  
  
"Oh," he said, weary and maybe a little defeated.  
  
"But _you_ do," she said, and was rewarded when his hands finally slid away from in front of his eyes to drag down his cheeks. "You've had a girlfriend."  
  
He looked at her, fingers still pulling at his skin, showing her the inside of his eyelids, and said, "Yes."  
  
"And…you kissed," she said, tilting her head towards him.  
  
He kept staring at her. "Yes."  
  
"And…" she lifted her chin, "more?"  
  
He released his face and now he looked a little less undead but still with the door slammed shut against her. "We kissed, yes."  
  
She clapped her hands together. "See? You're the perfect teacher."  
  
"I don't know about that," he said, and then he sighed again and squinted at her, partly incredulous, partly something else, or maybe many something elses. "I…don't know how one teaches someone to…"  
  
"Be a good kisser," she supplied.  
  
"Right," he said.  
  
"Well," she said, "I mean, there's practice," but the expression on his face told her _that_ was probably going nowhere, at least for now, "but maybe we could just start with you telling me the basics."  
  
"The basics," he repeated.  
  
"Of kissing," she said, nodding very seriously.  
  
"I—" She hadn't thought his eyes could go any squintier, but she was wrong. "You…put your lips together and then find their lips and…?"  
  
"I know _that_ ," she said, though probably her performance the previous night would beg to differ. She pushed off the door and perched on the corner of Nott's bed, her tail settling along her legs, and his knees instinctively drew away from hers, which was also a bad sign. "Like, how do you do it _well_?"  
  
He rolled his eyes and pressed his lips together in thought; and she had to hold back another giggle because as reluctant as he was to continue this line of discussion, she'd managed to present him with a _problem_ , and he simply couldn't resist trying to solve it. "It, ah, helps if you…like the other person, I suppose," he said finally, looking out of the corner of his eyes towards the end of his bed. "Really like them, I mean."  
  
"Okay, so, pretend to like them—or _really_ like them," she said.  
  
"Right," he said, "and…" He thought for what felt like a really long time, if only because she was incredibly impatient and still not entirely sure she was going to be able to get him to kiss her and prove that it wasn't a big deal and everything was all right, especially if he kept _thinking_ —but oh, she wanted to know what he thought. "It…you just have to learn them," he said, and he looked at her as he said it, as if he'd just figured it out for himself. "It takes time, you know? To learn what another person likes, to learn how to…kiss them well. It's…a specific skill."  
  
"Ah," she said, not quite sure why this made her heart pound in her chest.  
  
"What works for one person might not work for another," he said, and then he added, "I imagine," and then his gaze slid away from her and back into the recesses of his memory.  
  
And he always got so _sad_ when he went there, unless she managed to ask the right questions, and she was sure this wasn't one of them. "How did Astrid like to be kissed?"  
  
To her surprise he didn't slam the door again; instead he leaned back, putting a hand to his chin and studying her, and then he asked, "Why are you so interested in her?"  
  
"Well…" She searched for an answer, given that now was probably not the time to tell him maybe there was a letter from her waiting for them in Zidash. "She's like the only thing I know about you, really. I mean," and she shifted, sitting on her hands, "like, I know lots of things about you, right, that sometimes you can be really stinky, and you really like books and you're really protective of your books and you love cats, and you're pretty weak," she looked up to the ceiling, thinking, "and you do magic, and you _really_ love cats, and you're really smart, and I guess maybe you're not so good at shaving since you asked Yasha to shave you that one time? but that's really more of a guess, you know—"  
  
"I am perfectly capable of shaving myself," he said, unoffended.  
  
"—well, then I have it on good authority that you know how to shave," she said, "and I know you can be pretty funny when you want to be, and—" she wanted to say something about his generosity, about how he was so good about giving things and how he always seemed so happy when he did, but really that might have mostly been for _her_ , and that seemed a little too specific "—and you float in the ocean, which I mean most people do but anyway," she said, "you really like fine ink and parchment oh and you're broke, like, all the time, but you really love magic so it's worth it to you I guess." She paused for breath and looked back to him and found him completely unmoved. "But of you before…all of this?" She thought a little more, and then said, "Nott says you needed help. And Astrid had a perfect nose."  
  
"I see," he said, still looking at her very carefully, not quite suspicious, not quite puzzled, just curious and maybe a little prying.  
  
"And you know how to waltz," she added.  
  
"You know," he said, almost as if he hadn't heard her, "it's a strange thing, because I have spent so many years avoiding people and avoiding being seen and not wanting to be seen and not asking questions so that no one will question me in return and yet here you are," he said, and he tilted his head the other way, clasping his hands and pulling up his knee until his foot rested on the edge of the bed. "It is very…disconcerting."  
  
"Oh," she said, and she leaned forward and dropped her chin and gave him her best bad-cop interrogation stare, "well, you know me, I'm a _very_ good investigator."  
  
To her surprise he matched her, lean for lean, chin for chin, stare for stare, and now their knees were almost touching and she rested her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands to stop them trembling and he matched that, too, and they were close again, close enough for her to see the faint red in his cheeks, but his gaze was steady and calm and incisive and for the first time in her life she felt—stripped away, almost as if she hadn't realized there was anything underneath for someone to find until he—  
  
"You," he said, his voice quiet and low and a little cocky, "don't want anyone to worry about you. You don't want to cause trouble or be trouble for anyone—not trouble like the chaos you like to cause, but _you_ ," he said. "You want to help everyone and you don't want anyone to be worrying about you because it might make them sad and you only want them to be happy. You're very generous," he said, "but also a little selfish, and you are very new to the world, and yet every time it disappoints you you somehow manage to turn it on its head, at least so far as anyone else can see. But things hurt you, and make you sad," he said, and for a moment a flash of pain crossed his face, pain for _her_ sake, and she wanted to fight him tooth and nail on the point but was too breathless to do so, "and it's all right to be sad, Jester."  
  
_Not if it makes someone else sad_ , she thought, which was ridiculous, of course she knew it was okay to be sad, but instead she just shook her head a little and he smiled, briefly, and straightened away from her, though their knees were still—close.  
  
"You're sad too," she said, sitting up and sitting on her hands again, almost lashing out. "You're sad and you're lonely and something is eating you up inside and it's really hungry."  
  
The cockiness in his expression wavered, but he simply said, "Yes."  
  
She studied him and she knew she was worried and probably looked worried but she didn't know what to _do_ with everything he'd handed her, and so, as always, she turned it back on itself. "So what would make you happy?"  
  
He smiled again and it was so _sad_ a thing to see, and he didn't answer. And somehow that just made her heart hurt more, and that just made her frustrated and determined and she'd come here for a _reason_ and that reason wasn't to be told that he knew her better than anyone other than the Traveler and her mother and maybe even a little better than her mother, after all they'd been through, and _that_ scared her more than anything.  
  
So she said, reckless and challenging, "I bet practicing kissing would at least cheer you up."  
  
"No," he said, and the door slammed shut with it.  
  
"But you're so good at it," she said, almost whining, too proud to beg but hoping that maybe he'd do _something_ to make things normal again—  
  
"Jester," he said, "I'm not going to kiss you."  
  
"Why _not_?" she asked, and then, before she could even really think about it, she said, "Don't you want to?"  
  
She felt herself cross the line like an alarm she hadn't known was there until she heard the _tick_ of its invisible trigger, hadn't realized how tightly he'd wound it until she felt it snap. Her words hung in the silent still air between them and he looked at her as if she'd just set fire to the ship around them and she didn't want to snatch them back but she also thought maybe she ought to just go, maybe, if only to escape the way he looked at her, more and more like a man desperate and drowning. But as soon as she shifted her hands out from underneath her he was on his feet, stalking to the corner of the room with his hands in his hair, and she could only watch as he stood there with his shoulders hunched; and then he made a sound like a piece of parchment being ripped in two and turned back to her with fire in his eyes.  
  
"I," he said, breathing heavily, the door of his guard blown open, staring at her with a depth of loathing she hadn't even begun to expect, "am a liar. I am a thief," he said, and his hands dropped to his sides, and the loathing wasn't for her, not in the slightest, and her chest went tight; and he clenched his fists and said, his eyes losing focus, more to himself than to her, "I am a murderer."  
  
"Not only," she said, surprising herself with her own voice, surprising him too, and the firebolt intensity of his gaze was back on her. "Not only those things, Caleb."  
  
His lip curled. "You don't understand," he said.  
  
"No," she said, and then suddenly she was on her feet and _angry_ , "you're right, I don't know your past or who you were then but I know you now and you do good things too, I _told_ you." He flinched, and she said, "You're not just capable of good you _do_ good, and you take care of people—"  
  
"I am very selfish," he said, his voice low and dangerous, staring at her as if willing her to believe him, and for a moment she saw him and Fjord spilling their blood in Dashilla's lair and she thought he was right and she suddenly knew that if he was right then he would never be happy again, not really, and her hackles went up.  
  
"Sometimes, sure," she said, and then barreled on before he could look relieved, "but you take care of Nott, and was it selfishness when you came and rescued us from Lorenzo? And you've always taken care of me," and her voice wavered on that, too specific and too true, "because we're _friends_ , Caleb, and you might not want to admit it but we are and you do good. You _are_ good, Caleb," she said, but he was shaking his head.  
  
"You can't—"  
  
"Stop telling me what I can and can't do, Caleb Widogast," she said, hammering each syllable in her best impression of his voice, and he froze, eyes locked with hers, and the thing inside him might have been hungry but she was _very_ strong. "I can say you're good if I want to and I do want to say it because it's _true_ and I have proof." She paused for breath, almost glaring at him as he almost glared right back, because glaring was easier than—and she was hot and the room was hot and the candlelight was too little too bright and she tried to take a breath but the air was too thick, and she'd maybe been yelling a little bit and maybe someone else had heard them and the walls felt like a vise around her and if she didn't do something to ease the tension she was going to pop. "Besides," she said, forcing the words out as lightly as she could, which was pretty lightly but, she knew, not at all convincing, "Nott will back me up, and we're the best investigators there are."  
  
He wanted to believe her. She saw it in the slackness in his face, the hard swallow in his throat, the helpless grasping of his hands at his sides. He wanted to believe her so _badly_ , almost hungered for it as much as whatever it was hungered for him—but not enough, not _enough_ , and she couldn't pull him free by herself and she wanted to scream or cry with frustration, maybe both, and he could tell. And she knew he could tell in the way he was almost reaching for her, in the tragedy in his eyes, because she wasn't bothering to hide it because he'd see through it anyway. And no one who wasn't imaginary or a god or both had ever seen her like this and there was too much truth in too small a space and she didn't know how to escape it and wasn't even sure she _wanted_ to—  
  
Oh, she wanted to be _known_ , hungered for it, hadn't realized how much until she'd seen it dangled before her in his eyes just as she dangled goodness before him, tantalizing but just out of _reach_ unless one or the other of them took the step—  
  
She took a dry breath, licked her suddenly chapped lips. "Anyway," she said, with a little toss of her head as if it didn't matter at all, and he smiled painfully and she wanted that, too, "but maybe you're right, maybe you are selfish," and she looked down at her shoulder before she could see his reaction, "like, _super-_ selfish, I mean, you won't even teach me how to kiss correctly."  
  
"I am," he said, after a pause, his voice hoarse and quiet and hard and soft all at once, and she couldn't suppress a shiver, "very selfish."  
  
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and he was watching her very carefully, so carefully, not at all hesitant or unsure, simply waiting for her to decide and memorizing her in the meantime, and _oh_ she didn't understand how she could feel his gaze on every inch of her skin like a physical thing, hadn't known what wanting was, really, her stomach turned into something ravenous and her fingers tingling and her cheeks hot and her heart pounding in her ears and he was _waiting for her_ , would do whatever she decided, and the power that came with that surrender made her head almost feel like she was floating.  
  
She could decide—anything. She wanted—too many things, and so many of them were out of her grasp now—this definitely didn't qualify as _back to normal_ —but this was better, maybe, or a thousand times worse, dying by inches as the ship burned around them, maybe, or maybe not—  
  
She swallowed and looked down again. "You never answered my question," she said, and flicked her gaze up to meet his.  
  
He reacted as if she'd struck him with lightning, if only for a moment; and then he was calm, standing straight, lifting his chin in understanding, relaxed, almost, except for the burning in his eyes as he looked at her and suddenly she thought she didn't know anything of wanting, not compared to this, and part of her was suddenly terrified but more of her wanted to _learn_.  
  
"I did not," he said, and he was too generous, giving her too many chances to walk away, but if she walked away now she'd give up the fight against whatever his demons were and more than that she'd give up a piece of herself she hadn't even realize he had and oh he was selfish but she was selfish too—  
  
She looked at him, square in the eye, met his searing gaze with her chin held high, but her knees were trembling and her voice came out a whisper. "Don't you?"  
  
She thought she saw his heart break in the asking, but maybe his eyes were just a mirror of her own. She waited, caught in the stillness of the spell of her question; and then he broke it with a step. "I am," he said, "a liar," and he took another step, and she kept her head high, waiting. "I am a thief," he said, and she wanted to close her eyes as he approached, but she held his gaze instead. "I am a murderer," he said, and his voice broke on the word as he closed the distance between them and she watched his face as he stripped the layers of his guard away and threw them at her feet, and to _know_ as she was _known_ —  
  
"But," he whispered, his voice passing through her with all the force of thunder, "I will not lie to you."  
  
Her lips parted and her eyes closed and she waited and for a moment nothing happened—and then she felt the tender brush of fingers against her forehead, parting her hair and then gently, _so_ gently, running along the base of her horn, and she hadn't known _that_ would feel so—and then his fingers slid down her cheek and he rested his palm there and she leaned into it, into the warmth of it, and then there was pressure, just enough to lift her chin and _there_ his lips were against hers. But this time they were soft, and inviting, testing the give and take of her own and she didn't know what to do so she just stood as perfectly still as she could with her trembling knees—her trembling _everything_ —as he kissed her. Kissed her over and over again, soft, light kisses, and every time he drew back a little she found herself leaning more and more into his palm until she couldn't bear it, until her hands sought his waist of their own accord and tugged on his shirt and she _felt_ him chuckle and she was torn between grinning and pouting and he kissed her bottom lip as if he knew, teasing and _perfect_.  
  
The next time his lips brushed hers she leaned into it, pushing to her tiptoes in order to give herself a little more force but of course she was _very_ strong and so he stumbled and she yanked him back by the shirt and suddenly they were pressed together and her lips parted as she caught her breath and his hand slid back into her hair and pulled her mouth back to his. But now their lips were sort of caught between each other and if before he'd been a banked fire then this was the log that brought it back to life and in a moment his fingers were tangled in her hair and more surprisingly hers were in his without her ever really thinking about it. His hair was maybe a little greasy but thick and surprisingly fine and it felt good between her fingers and more than that his _mouth_ felt good, warm and kind of wet which was kind of weird except, more than that, _good_.  
  
_Oh_ , and she couldn't keep up with how he was kissing her, now hard, as if he could devour her; now painfully, exquisitely slow, as if he wanted nothing more than to linger against her for an eternity. And he might have said it took time to learn somebody but she thought he must have figured her out pretty quickly and maybe it was just because she didn't know what she was doing or maybe he was just a quick study. She couldn't think straight enough to even start learning him, could only run her hands through his hair, down his neck, over his shoulders, grasping his shirt and pulling him closer even as they gasped for breath between kisses, her tail somewhere along his leg. And hey, she couldn't be too bad at this, since they were still doing it and he seemed even more eager than when they'd started—and how long, she almost wondered, but then he slid a hand down her spine to the small of her back and pulled her into him and _oh_ , that was the fire of his skin only a few scant layers of clothing away from hers and he was flicking his tongue against her lips and she wasn't quite sure where that would go but she was pretty sure only good places, too. But— _closer_ —closer was good—and so without quite knowing what she was doing she slid one of her legs around his until his was between hers and hers was between his and _oh_ that was his—and _oh_ that was—a lot, oh, good but a lot, good but maybe—  
  
He broke off the kiss abruptly and took a full step away from her and she faltered after him and his hands came up against her shoulders and held her there, held her away, his head hung low; and the air that had been so hot and stifling before suddenly felt like ice in comparison. In the silence she heard the heaving of his breath and the shallow panting of her own, but distantly, underneath the rush of blood in her ears, and _oh_ he—he—he really wanted to kiss her. _Really_ wanted to kiss her, and she wanted—she wanted—  
  
He looked up at her and she looked back at him, suddenly terrified and unsure and unknowing, and she watched him read her face, watched him maybe misunderstand and she shook her head a little, _no_ , no regrets, only maybe—but maybe not. And he looked—like a man dying of thirst given salt water to drink, she thought wildly, though of course that wasn't right, but something was wrong and it wasn't her and it wasn't him but it was something in between, the thing eating at him or something else but what else it could be, she didn't know.  
  
And suddenly she knew exactly what she wanted—wanted to hold him, wanted him to hold her, wanted to hang onto each other and wait the fire out, to rebuild from the ashes together—but instead he shook his head and placed a palm of each of her cheeks and pulled her in for another kiss, long and slow and apologetic even as he poured _everything_ into it, everything but not enough. But she wanted him anyway and she tried to tell him that as she kissed him back, hands on his neck, fingers twisting in his hair as if she could hold him there by sheer force of will alone.  
  
But eventually he withdrew and she looked at him and thought maybe he'd understood, but she was so new at kissing and really—now she didn't even know if she was _good_ at it or not—and she hiccupped a laugh that got caught as a sob in her throat, and he closed his eyes against the sound, his hands still cupping her face, unwilling to let go. She closed her eyes and leaned into his palm— _you don't have to_ —but a moment later she felt him sigh, and his hands dropped away.  
  
She didn't open her eyes. She didn't dare, lest she start to cry. He probably knew she wanted to cry anyway, and so she forced herself to smile instead.  
  
Fingers touched her cheek, lingering again, and then his lips brushed her forehead and he was gone from her; and a few footsteps later he was gone from the room and she was alone and she _wanted_ —  
  
She didn't know how long she stood there, staring at the candle over his bed, eyes dry, fists clenched, trembling and aching and wanting and _mad_ , afraid of all the newness inside her, the places where things no longer fit as they once had, and then a voice said, confused and slow, "Jester?"  
  
"Nott!" she said, and her hands flew to her cheeks—not as hot, not anymore, thank the Traveler. "What are you—this is your room," she said, as sense came back to her head. "Right. Sorry! I'll just—"  
  
"Are you all right?" Nott said, and she had to take a deep breath against the hysterical laughter in her chest.  
  
"I'm fine," she said, which was more or less true, but while Caleb might have been a liar (don't think about him don't think about him don't wonder what lies he's already told) she was an _excellent_ liar, and the smile she gave Nott was genuine. "I was just thinking how pretty that little candle is, all by itself on that great big wall, you know."  
  
"I see," said Nott, a little skeptical, and come to think of it she hadn't expressed much of an opinion on fire either way, and maybe she hated it too. "Have you seen Caleb?"  
  
"Oh yes," she said, and for a moment words failed her but she grinned through it. "He was here and we were talking but then he had to go…check. Something. You know how he is," she said with a wave of her hand, and that hurt something in her chest, too. "You say something and he thinks of something and just walks away to do it."  
  
"That does sound like Caleb," Nott said, and then her eyes narrowed a bit. "I saw him right before I came down and it looks like whatever you said made him want to lean over the railing like he was going to be sick."  
  
He was _alone_ —his choice. She still had to choose. She shrugged. "Maybe dinner didn't agree with him."  
  
"Maybe," Nott said, eyes still a little narrow. "I mean, fresh fruit for the first time in a month, my God, it's a miracle we don't all have the runs."  
  
"Right?" Jester said with an emphatic nod of agreement. "Anyway speaking of maybe I should go, good night!"  
  
She skipped out of the room before Nott could reply, pulling the door closed as she went, and went straight to her room and climbed over Beau as she was doing her nightly stretches—"Hey!"—and got into bed and pulled the covers over her head and squeezed her eyes shut and willed sleep to come.  
  
"Jester?"  
  
Or if not sleep, then at least the Traveler.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Yeah just tired," she said, her breath hot against her face. "Busy day, running all over the ship, good night!"  
  
A pause, and then she could almost see Beau shrugging as she said, "Night." And then she was alone with Beau's deep breathing and occasional grunts as her only distraction from her own thoughts and it wasn't much of a lullaby at all. She wanted her mother. She needed to sleep.  
  
Caleb had a spell for that. Caleb, with his spells and his secrets and his cat and did she even like cats? She had a weasel and a dog, that couldn't possibly end well, but he kissed her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever touched and that was—a lot, when she hadn't even known she wanted to kiss him at all when she'd walked in the room, and now—  
  
Now, it was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jade, you might be saying, please tell me there's more kissing and less feels in this chapter, my heart can't handle it.
> 
> Reader, I sadly say in reply, this is just the epilogue. _Welcome to my pain_.

The door behind her suddenly gave way and a familiar voice said, " _Jester_?"  
  
"Oh," she said, dazed and blinking awake as she lay with her back on the floor, "good morning."  
  
"Jester," Nott said, her face coming into view as she crouched over her, "what are you doing in our—"  
  
"Intruder!" came Caleb's sleep-startled voice from the corner of the room, rough and panicked and yep, still heartbreaking, and she sighed.  
  
"It's just Jester, she fell in the door when I tried to open it," Nott said. "Jester, it's not even dawn, what are you—"  
  
"What are _you_ doing up?" she countered.  
  
"Going to see what I can steal from the rest of the crew while they're sleeping," Nott said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. Jester frowned and she added, "I give it back, I give it back. Most of it," she amended. "Gotta keep the skills sharp somehow, right?"  
  
"Jester," Caleb said, and it wasn't a question.  
  
"Can I talk to Caleb please?" Jester said, or maybe more mumbled, because it wasn't even dawn yet and she didn't want to wake anyone else up if she could help it.  
  
"Sure," Nott said, and then she looked back to the room and said, "I mean, if you're up—"  
  
"I'm up," Caleb said, sounding maybe a little resigned. "Go…do your thieving."  
  
Jester sat up and scooted along the outer wall, being sure to stay on a patch in front of their room and not somebody else's. Nott looked at her for a moment and then leaned in close. "You're _sure_ you're all right?"  
  
"I'm fine," she said, which was mostly true, though her neck was stiff and her shoulders were sore and her lips were currently not being kissed which, it turned out, was a whole new kind of unpleasantness she hadn't expected. "Just give us a minute, okay?" Nott's eyebrows went up and her eyes brightened and Jester said, or maybe begged a little, " _Please_?"  
  
"If you insist," the goblin said, and then she pulled up the hood of her cloak and vanished into the shadows. Jester hugged her knees to her chest, her tail wrapped around her legs. The quiet creak of the ship as it shifted in the water hid Nott's footsteps, and a good minute passed before she heard Caleb's as he rounded the door and settled next to her, not quite close enough to touch.  
  
"Good morning," he said courteously.  
  
She didn't dare look at him. "Good morning," she said. "How…did you sleep?"  
  
A breath in, a shift of some kind, and then, "Not particularly well."  
  
"Mm," she said, nodding in sympathy. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes and said, "How…do you feel?"  
  
Another minute of silence, and then he said, "How do _you_ feel?"  
  
"I don't know," she said, desperately grateful he'd asked, because he was the person she talked to about these sorts of things, feelings and such, and she didn't know what she'd do if she couldn't anymore. "It's a lot, you know? Like, a lot."  
  
"Yes," he said.  
  
" _You're_ a lot," she said.  
  
His breath caught for a moment. "Yes."  
  
"And I don't know what to do," she said. "I just wanted things to be normal because I was afraid I'd made them weird and now…are we going to be okay?"  
  
She didn't quite turn her head to look at him, could only see maybe his shoulder out of the corner of her eye, caught a glimpse of his profile. One wrist rested on a bent knee and his other foot, bare, came into her peripheral vision as he straightened his leg. She found herself looking at his toes and she'd never really looked at someone else's toes before and she wondered, while he thought, if when you loved someone you really wanted to know every part of them, even their toes, even their toenails, so that you could love them too. No one wrote poems about toenails, at least not that she'd read. Maybe someone should. Caleb's toes weren't too bad. Surprisingly clean, not too hairy.  
  
"I think," he said, and even after having had all that time to think about what to say he still changed course, "that—I—it is not new," he said, "to me, and so I can…I have learned to live with it. 'Normal' is not—this is…it, for me."  
  
"Oh," she said, and she wanted to ask _how long?_ but wasn't sure she was ready for the answer.  
  
"But for you I understand," he said, "and not knowing what you want—"  
  
"I know what I want," she said, and he went very, very still. Even his toes. She liked them.  
  
"Do you?" he said, his voice very low.  
  
She felt her face crumple "No," she said plaintively, maybe a little too loudly, and she hushed herself. "Not if _you_ don't—"  
  
"I do—" and then he stopped, and then he said, "Anyway, you don't have to decide now, if you don't want to. I can…"  
  
"Wait?" she asked, and he shrugged again and said nothing. Wait for a no, and things carried on as they had been, and she hadn't even known it; wait for a yes, and then what? "And if I decide I want to…practice, some more?"  
  
The ship creaked quietly as he drew in a long, slow breath; and then he said, very lightly, in that wonderful way that he had when he stopped taking himself so seriously, "Well, you are a very good kisser."  
  
She laughed at that, quietly, and her heart hammered painfully in her chest, and she said, "And if I want…more?"  
  
He sighed, and his jollity went with it. "I am very selfish," he said, and she went hot all over again.  "Jester, I have things I want—things I _must_ do. Things that are more important than—" but he couldn't say it; she _felt_ him fight to find the words. "I…I do not know how much I could give you," he said finally, and it wasn't a _no_ , and that terrified her.  
  
"But you could try," she said.  
  
"You deserve—"  
  
"But if I _want_ ," she said, and then she said, "Don't try to tell me what I want, Caleb."  
  
"I don't want to," he said, "I want you to—" and then he stopped, and she thought he was a little terrified, too.  
  
"If I want," she said again, and she felt him tense beside her, and she waited, looked back to his toes, then to her knees, fighting every instinct she had to interrupt or joke or flee or cry, _waiting_ , and she was usually very good at waiting but this was different because if this came out wrong she didn't know what—  
  
The breath left him, long and quiet and slow, and took the fight with it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him bow his head. "For you," he said, very slowly, "if you want, I could…try."  
  
She caught her breath and he said, "Jester, I don't—"  
  
"I'll let you know," she said, standing before he could cut off his nose to spite his face as he was so wont to do, "what I decide."  
  
She finally looked at him, looked down at him, at the top of his head and the resignation in every inch of his body, and wondered for a moment if the fight would be worth it; and then she thought of his hair between her fingers and his hands around her waist and more than that, the look on his face when he'd given her the inkpot, invited her into his tiny hut for the first time, offered her money when he had none to give.  
  
He was worth it, even if he didn't believe it himself. But she didn't know if she could fight without him at her back, and—  
  
She didn't have to decide now, and then he looked up at her and he was—really hot, like, when did he get so hot? and she definitely _shouldn't_ decide right now. "Anyway," she said, "good morning, sorry to wake you, have a good day."  
  
He smiled at her with weary eyes. "The same to you."  
  
She felt his gaze follow her as she walked the length of the passageway, felt it lingering on her heels as she climbed the stairs to the deck above. She emerged in the salty stinky air of the Nicodranas docks, a fresh morning breeze with dead fish on it blowing her hair back from her face, the sky grey with the coming dawn. The docks were already alive on either side of them, empty berths preparing to receive ships ready for rest, other ships readying to sail with the sun. She took a deep breath, got past the worst of the initial gag, and thought, _okay_ , and that felt okay. And when the sun came up they could go talk to the Zolezzo, and then she could go talk to her mother, and that would help too. And then—  
  
And then she could decide, maybe. Or maybe not. He'd wait, either way, and she wasn't the only one in the fight, after all; Nott and Beau were in it too, and probably Yasha, and Caduceus inasmuch as he preferred inner peace to conflict, and if Fjord—oh, _Fjord_ —could keep his head on straight he'd help, too.  
  
She had time. At least a little of it. At least assuming they didn't do anything in the next few hours to get themselves thrown into life-or-death danger or permanently banished from the Menagerie Coast, which was a bit of a gamble to be honest but one she was willing to take. One she had to take, because whatever she chose she had to be _sure_.  
  
One way or another, she'd have to decide. And until then…  
  
Well, at least she knew she was a _very_ good kisser.


End file.
